


hoping for a dreamless sleep

by sunsetozier



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M, eddie is v loving and soft for richie and vice versa, horror movies were a bad idea, rich has nightmares poor bby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 14:12:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16265858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetozier/pseuds/sunsetozier
Summary: Richie purses his lips, squinting down at the floor and hunching his shoulders, wanting to curl in on himself and disappear. “I mean… it kind of does, I guess. Just not, like, movies, specifically. Just… horror. In general. In, uh- in my dreams, or whatever.”It takes a second for Eddie to unravel what Richie is trying to say, and when he does, he ducks his head down to enter Richie’s line of vision and connect their gazes. “You’ve been having nightmares?”-Richie hasn't been having good dreams recently. Because of this, he really should have known that watching a bunch of scary movies wouldn't be a great idea.





	hoping for a dreamless sleep

**Author's Note:**

> horror movie marathon prompt!! day eleven!! aaAAAA!!

            To be fair, it sounded like a great idea when Beverly suggested it.

            Like, Richie loves scary movies. He always has. Prior to now, any chance to watch a good, or even a completely shit, horror film has brought him immense excitement and joy. A mere three hours ago, when Beverly flashed the group a mischievous grin and reminded them that Halloween is nearing, that had been the same. Richie was immediately on board, Eddie was right behind him, Mike and Bill were indifferent, and Ben and Stan only took a few seconds of coaxing before they were nodding along.

            And thus, they are here, halfway through the second scary movie of the night, and Richie is starting to realize that maybe… maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to this.

            See, Richie’s been having an issue lately revolving sleep. To be specific, he’s been avoiding it due to the sudden onslaught of horrifying nightmares that have been plaguing him damn near every night for the past two months. He’s not sure why they started or where they came from, but he has been more jumpy, sometimes even postponing blinking because of the images painted on the inside of his own fucking eyelids. Images of confusing hallways and twisting turns and yellow eyes and echoing laughter and blood, blood, blood, blood, _blood—_

            Someone in the movie screams, and Richie barely suppresses an audible gasp as his heart stutters in his chest. It’s only made worse by the fact that they made sure to set the mood before starting the movies. All the lights are off, and they’re in the fucking basement – which is usually fine, because Bill’s basement is probably where they hang out the most once it starts to get cold out, but it’s not even close to fine right now, because he suddenly realizes that they are quite literally underground. Like, there’s no windows here, no fresh air, because ground level is above his head. Through the wall to his left is fucking _dirt_ and _mud_ and _rain_ and creepy crawlies hiding away and waiting to dig out of the ground and _attack._ Which is dramatic, Richie knows, but he’s kind of freaked the fuck out right now, so he can’t really help it.

            Thankfully, no one really seems to notice the fact that he’s not as excited right now as he usually is. As in, the comments he usually makes, mostly in a whisper so as not to piss anyone off too much, and every time he usually snickers at the more cliché aspects of the films? Those are nonexistent right now, because his knees are drawn up to his chest and his blanket is bunched around him, pulled over his shoulders and basically covering his entire body. With how high it’s piled up around him, he’s practically vanished beneath the material, making it much easier to burrow his face into his knees. That doesn’t help much, though, because if he closes his eyes he’ll see remnants of his nightmares, so all he can do is gaze intently up towards the ceiling and trying to subtly cover his ears to block out the more quiet noises.

            Fuck, he remembers when Bill got these new speakers last year for his seventeenth birthday. They’re loud and make it sound like the noise is coming from everywhere. At the time, Richie had been so excited about it, playing music and choosing movies, but now he kind of misses the shitty sound quality of the speakers Bill had before. It was easier to tune things out with those. Now, the eerie music and the shouts of terror and the fucking inhuman screeches of what he thinks is supposed to be a demon (the plot is kind of lost to him right now) are inescapable and he has never hated anything more than he hates this. Except, like… spoiled milk, maybe. But even that’s iffy because this is the most uptight and anxious he’s felt since he accidentally broke a window back in seventh grade. With that, though, he just got grounded for a week and had to do extra chores to earn the money to pay it off, which wasn’t that bad. This, however… well. He’s stuck here, in this mindless panic, until everyone falls asleep, which is usually close to sunrise. So, a good eight hours of this, unless he manages to fall asleep himself, which he highly doubts he will due to all of his senses being so overloaded right now.

            _This fucking sucks,_ he thinks, and finally gives in to the urge to squeeze his eyes shut, if only momentarily. At first, it’s a nice change, but as expected, it doesn’t take long before those familiar tunnels and those fucking eyes appear in his mind and make it even worse than before. Kind of pissed off, but mostly just wanting to cry, he opens his eyes again, just in time to witness some kind of gruesome murder on screen that looks way too realistic for comfort. Any other time, he’d appreciate how well made the movie is, but that’s fucking impossible right now. Why couldn’t it have been a shitty movie? Could the world at least have given him that?

            No. No, of fucking course not. Why would it?

            Against his will, he lets out a quiet, strangled kind of noise, unable to tear his gaze away from the screen, watching as one of the characters transforms into something entirely and begins to quite literally rip the other character to sheds. It’s a mess of blood and screaming and a disgusting squelching sort of noise, and even though he knows that it’s all fake, he still feels sick to the stomach.

            The thing is, his nightmares are very specific and very, very odd. They always start with some strange, dark room – sometimes in a house, sometimes underground, though he’s not sure how he knows that. One type of room is square and small and smells of dust, whilst the other is wide and circular and reeks of something old and rotten and decaying. In the smaller room, he feels eyes on him, watching his every move, but cannot see anything else in the same space as in. In the larger room, he is completely alone, standing there and looking around the darkness and feeling the heaviness of being abandoned weight heavily on his shoulders.

            After that is when things begin to differ, becoming one of various options. Sometimes, he starts to hear things, like dripping water or the faint voices of his friends or scurrying footsteps that consistently sound like they’re getting closer but never actually reach him. Sometimes, he starts to see things, like flashes of light and people sprinting past him at the very edge of the light before vanishing in the shadows and blood coating every surface. Sometimes, he simply appears somewhere else, and something entirely different occurs, like that one nightmare where he suddenly teleported into the Barrens and saw the lifeless bodies of everyone he loves hanging limp and mangled in the trees.

            Bad dreams, they are. Very bad, very horrible dreams.

            And this movie is simply too much for him to watch, because the blood and the gore and the plea’s are all echoing in his mind, reflecting the nightmares he’s already had and promising more tonight. Honestly, he’s starting to consider living off of coffee and energy drinks, just to see if he really needs to sleep to live. Like, if he has enough caffeine, then surely he can survive on just a short nap, like, once or twice a week, right? Hopefully a dreamless one, at that. Or maybe he can—

            “Hey,” a quiet voice whispers to him, making him jump slightly in response. He turns his head and finds Eddie looking at him, brows knotting together and lips tugged down into a slight frown. “Are you okay? You seem off.”

            It makes sense, really, the fact that Eddie is the first to notice. Eddie is usually the center of Richie’s attention, after all, and even when Richie isn’t very talkative during movies, he usually tends to be quite affectionate, often draping himself over Eddie’s lap or something like that. Honestly, the fact that it’s taken this long for him to say anything is surprising, and Richie is really glad that he’s being quiet about it, clearly aware that drawing attention to Richie’s current state probably isn’t the best idea.

            When Richie doesn’t answer, Eddie’s frown deepens. “Richie?”

            And he could lie, sure, but he doesn’t like lying, and he knows that if he’s honest about this then Eddie will get him the fuck out of here. So, not trusting his voice, he simply shakes his head no.

            “Okay,” Eddie murmurs, looking around the room for a moment with contemplative eyes. Richie waits, blinking slowly and trying his hardest to ignore the violence still happening on the television, until Eddie grabs his wrist and stands. “We’re gonna get some more snacks,” he states simply, pulling Richie behind him and basically marching up the stairs. Everyone else is too invested in the movie to give them a second glance, only offering meek mumbles and hums as they leave.

            Once they reach the first floor, Eddie surprises him by taking a quick left and continuing to up to the second floor, down the hall, and into Bill’s room, where he promptly closes the door and leads them to the bed to sit down. Richie doesn’t fight it, and he realizes a little belatedly that his hands are shaking.

            Eddie waits a moment, then gently asks, “So, what’s wrong?”

            “Uh…” Richie shakes his head, frowning down at his hands. He clasps them together to try and conceal the trembling and lets them hang between his knees, and he wishes he had brought his blanket, because he feels oddly exposed without the protection of it wrapped around him. Shrugging lightly, he replies with, “I dunno. Just not feeling the scary movies right now, I guess.”

            “Were you getting scared or something?” Eddie questions, not looking very convinced. “’Cause you’ve been acting kind of weird for at least a few weeks now, and I don’t think that has anything to do with any sort of horror movie. I think it’s something else.”

            Richie purses his lips, squinting down at the floor and hunching his shoulders, wanting to curl in on himself and disappear. “I mean… it kind of does, I guess. Just not, like, movies, specifically. Just… horror. In general. In, uh- in my dreams, or whatever.”

            It takes a second for Eddie to unravel what Richie is trying to say, and when he does, he ducks his head down to enter Richie’s line of vision and connect their gazes. “You’ve been having nightmares?” Pressing his lips together, Richie averts his eyes and nods once, curtly, almost reluctantly. Even gentler, Eddie asks, “Are they like the ones you used to have when we were in elementary school?”

            Oh, Richie _wishes_ they were like the nightmares he had back in fourth grade. Those had been walks in the park compared to these, consisting solely of getting lost in grocery stores and cartoonish monsters hiding under his bed. Sure, they were terrifying at the time, but now? Now he’s kill to have dreams like that again. He’s kind of surprised Eddie remembers that, though, seeing as it was so long ago, but he doesn’t dwell on it, instead just shaking his head and mumbling, “No, they’re… a lot worse.”

            “And the scary movies probably aren’t helping much,” Eddie guesses, his gaze flickering between Richie’s eyes intently, as if trying to read his thoughts or something. “Right?”

            “Yeah,” Richie agrees, not offering anything else other than that. He doesn’t really need to. He’s fairly sure Eddie knows everything he wants to say simply by looking at him – knows that Richie doesn’t want to go back down the to basement, but also that he’ll feel guilty if he stays up here; knows that he feels exhausted and wants to go to sleep, but that he’s terrified to do just that because he’s sure his nightmare’s will only be even worse after what he watched.

            Eddie nods, looking like he’s come to some kind of conclusion, and then instructs, “Lay down.”

            Brows furrowing together, Richie looks at Eddie as he stands, confused. “What? Why?”

            “Sleepovers helped when you had nightmares before,” Eddie explains simply, as if the answer is obvious. He crosses the room at a brisk place and shuts the blinds, flickering the lights off while he’s by the door. “Maybe it won’t do shit now because you’re not a ten-year-old, but it’s worth a shot, right?”

            “But the others—”

            “Will understand completely if you tell them the truth,” Eddie cuts in, making his way back to Bill’s bed and crossing his arms over his chest as he looks down at Richie. “And if you don’t tell them the truth, they’ll still understand that you had your reasons and they’ll respect that. Now lay down.”

            Although he wants to argue some more, Richie does as he’s told, pushing himself back until he’s able to recline himself properly across the duvet. He’s about to reach down the pull the blankets out from under him, but Eddie beats him to it, tugging the duvet back until it’s free and then climbing into the bed to pull it over the two of them.

            The quiet that follows is gentle, filled only by the two of them shifting slightly to get comfortable. It’s a little too dark to see clearly, but when Richie’s eyes adjust, he can tell that Eddie is facing him, scanning over his features constantly, looking worried and curious and unsure. After a moment of silence, he asks, “What are they about? Your nightmares, I mean.”

            Richie considers his answer, but he isn’t sure he has one. His nightmares are confusing and choppy and incoherent and terrifying, consisting of gore and noises and smells and an overwhelming sense of dread and doom that tastes sour in the air. “Bad things,” he decides on saying, and Eddie doesn’t ask for a better explanation than that.

            “How long have you been having them?” he asks instead. Absently, he reaches forward, gently pulling Richie’s glasses off of his face before folding them up and placing them on Bill’s nightstand.

            “Few months, I think.” He isn’t exactly positive, but it’s been a while. “Can’t remember.”

            The _humph_ that Eddie lets out is a mixture of sad and distressed. “You could have told me.”

            “I did tell you,” Richie states matter-of-factly, having to squint in order to make out Eddie’s features now that his glasses are gone. He can just barely make out Eddie rolling his eyes.

            “You could have told me _sooner_ , dickhead,” Eddie corrects with a quiet huff of laughter, amusement glimmering in his gaze. “Forget about that, though. You need to sleep. You look dead tired.”

            Richie nods, and there’s still some residue tension in his muscles, a lingering anxiety hovering over his chest and pressing down on his ribcage. It’s an uncomfortable feeling. Flexing his hands just enough for his fingertips to brush against Eddie’s side, he starts, “Can I—?”

             But Eddie is already nodding, moving forward and tugging Richie closer to him. “Of course.”

            The two of them mold together easily, simply. Richie nestles his face into Eddie’s neck, arms wrapping around his middle, while Eddie presses his mouth to Richie’s hairline and snakes his own arms around Richie’s shoulders. Their legs naturally tangle together, ankles hooking with ankles and knees resting between thighs. It’s cozy, much better than laying side by side. In fact, if he thinks about it, the sleepovers him and Eddie had back when he was ten and dealing with those nightmares, they’d ended up in a comfortable position similar to this, though it was much more childish and a whole lot less intimate.

            That’s okay, though. Because their childish cuddling had been enough to ward of Richie’s bad dreams back then. He can only assume this intimate cuddling with do the same now.

            “Thanks, Eds,” Richie murmurs, words muffled into the skin of Eddie’s neck, and he thinks he can feel Eddie smile and press a feather light kiss to his hair line.

            “Go to bed, Rich,” Eddie practically whispers, voice so quiet and soft as it floats through the air.

            And this is not a permanent solution to a consistent problem, Richie knows, because his nightmares will keep coming no matter what. He can just tell, has this strange feeling in the center of his chest, that they may never truly end, not forever anyway. But for tonight, he has no nightmares, and that’s good enough for him.

**Author's Note:**

> tomorrow's prompt is Hidden Trapdoor and it's rated mature!! :D


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